


Ptichye Moloko

by ilien



Series: Celebrations [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday, Gen, Georgi has a girlfriend, M/M, Russian traditions, St. Petersburg, Team as Family, Viktor has two mothers, mentions of a minor injury, that aren't really anything special
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilien/pseuds/ilien
Summary: It's Yuuri's birthday, and he's in St. Petersburg—but Viktor isn't.





	Ptichye Moloko

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phayte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phayte/gifts).



> Ptichye Moloko - (Птичье молоко - Bird’s Milk) is a famous (and delicious) Russian cake that was named after an equally famous Czech souffle candy of Polish origin (Ptasie mleczko). The cake was so popular in the Soviet Union that on the days before the big holidays the queues to the shop that sold it could be street-long. In modern day Russia a lot of bakeries make various kinds of the cake, but very few of them manage to do it Right. In Russian, following the Greek meaning, the phrase also means something amazing, but nearly impossible to obtain.
> 
>    
> This is a birthday present for Phayte. Now that the main fic has been posted, I'm deanoning here, as well. Happy birthday, Phayte!

“If you think we’re going to throw you a surprise birthday party,” says Yuri the evening before Yuuri’s birthday, “here’s your fair warning: dream on.”

Yuri doesn’t need the ‘fair warning’. Six months in Russia were more than enough to figure out that there’s no such tradition here—and if Yuuri were to be completely honest with himself, he was kind of relieved that no one was going to replicate Phichit’s infamous glitter-and-hamsters parties here in St. Petersburg. Not that he didn’t appreciate the effort, but—he’d rather not be surprised like that again.

“Then what are you doing here?” Yuuri asks. “Aren’t you supposed to still be at the rink?” Preparing for the GPF Yuuri isn’t going to.

Which is a good thing, as well, because it gives Yuuri just enough time to recover from his frustrating injury (who else secures his spot at GPF and then has a bad fall in practice only two days later?) and gather enough strength for the Olympics. 

“Fuck the rink, I know you’ve got cake,” Yuri says and makes a beeline to the fridge. 

So, this is why Viktor’s detailed instructions for cake buying (the kind of the cake, the size, the brand, and, underlined and with three exclamation marks, the exact place that sells them) included two cakes. “Take the one on the bottom shelf,” Yuuri says. 

“Make me some tea,” Yuri demands, grabbing the box with the cake (thankfully, the smaller one from the bottom shelf), then two plates and teaspoons, and taking them to the living room. “Green. With sugar.” 

Probably Viktor not being here is also a good thing. The last thing Yuuri needs is yet another heated discussion over whether or not it’s okay to put sugar in green tea. Yuuri doesn’t like sugar in his own tea of any kind, but it seems like he’s the only person in this city who doesn’t have a strong opinion on how other people should take it. 

He makes the tea—green for Yuri (two spoons of sugar), and then Assam, from Viktor’s stash, for himself, and brings the mugs to the living room, where Yuri’s already started on the cake. 

“How’s your foot?” Yuri asks over a spoonful of chocolate glaze. 

“Still under orders to walk a lot and not over exercise,” Yuuri complains. “Otherwise, fine.” He stretches his leg to demonstrate. “Almost doesn’t hurt.” 

“Good. I don’t need you dropping out of the olympics before I can beat you.”

“Dream on,” Yuuri quotes. 

“Just wait and see,” Yuri says. “But anyway, what are your plans for tomorrow?” 

“Physio in the morning, then my prescribed walk,” Yuuri answers. “And I’m expecting everyone by seven?”

No surprise birthday parties doesn’t mean no birthday parties at all. It only means you get to buy your own cake and probably omit the singing. Hopefully, omit the singing.

“Yeah, they’ll be here by seven,” Yuri confirms. “Aren’t you gonna go to the rink?”

“Not really. I’m not allowed to skate until next week. Why?” 

“No reason. Just curious how hard you’re going to sulk on your own birthday.”

About as hard as any other day Viktor’s not there, probably. Well, maybe just a little bit harder, since it’s Yuuri’s second birthday with Viktor and, at the same time, his second birthday without him. 

“He’ll be home on Thursday, you know,” Yuri reminds him when Yuuri doesn’t say anything. 

Yuuri nods. He will be, with his brand new Skate America gold medal and a very nice sponsorship contract for the two of them. 

“I’ve got ice practice first thing in the morning,” Yuri says. “Do you mind if I crush here?” Lilia lives an hour away from the rink, and Viktor and Yuuri’s place is at a walking distance; Yuuri’s actually surprised Yuri still asks.

“You know where the remote is,” Yuuri tells him. “I think I’ll have an early night.”

“Yeah, sure. Go sulk,” Yuri says and reaches for another piece of cake. 

* * *

The morning of his birthday Yuuri’s woken up by the doorbell. Thoroughly regretting he doesn’t know enough Russian swear words to tell whoever’s there everything he thinks of them, he rushes to open the door—and is met by a huge bouquet of roses. 

“Delivery for mister Katsuki Yuuri,” says the delivery boy cheerfully in a badly accented English. “Happy birthday, sir!”

Yuro’s definitely rubbed off on him, because the only thing he wants right now is to punch the poor guy on his stupid smiling face. Instead, he thanks him very politely in Russian and takes the flowers to the living room.

They’re beautiful dark red roses and they smell divine. It makes Yuuri feel like a spoiled brat, because he’d rather have Viktor bring him a half-dry dandelion in person than have however many roses delivered to their empty apartment. 

He knows Yuri has an early practice and there’s no reason for him to still be here, but despite that he’s disappointed to discover that he the only evidence of him being here earlier this morning is an empty mug and a plate with a half-eaten slice of cake. 

He knows that Makka’s having the time of her life in Japan, but he still wishes she were here, too. She’d probably wake him up much earlier than the delivery boy did, but it would still be worth it, to not be all alone right now.

He takes a shower, trying to wake himself up and stop “sulking on his own birthday” as Yurio put it. It doesn’t really work.

* * *

Getting out of the shower, he checks his phone. It’s almost ten o’clock, which explains the not-really-early delivery.

 _“Happy birthday, my love!”_ a message from Viktor says. _“I’m sorry I can’t be there with you, but I promise I’ll shower you with all my loving as soon as I get there! Have a great day and don’t forget to dress warm, I heard it’s snowing!”_

Yuuri sends him a heart emoji and promises to stay warm. For some reason, everyone here, including Victor who should really know better, believes Yuuri has never seen snow in his entire life.

His physio appointment is in less than an hour, and if he walks there instead of taking a tram, that’ll cover almost half of his daily walking assignment, so he decides to skip the breakfast, drops a bottle of smoothie in his backpack, puts on his new warm coat and goes outside.

It is, indeed, windy, wet, and snowing; Yuuri puts his hood up and stuffs his fists in the pockets, but stubbornly refuses to take the tram; he’ll have to do the eight kilometers today anyway, why delay the inevitable?

* * *

It’s probably the snow and the wind that distract him, because he’s almost halfway to the clinic when he notices there’s something in his pocket, other than a pack of tissues he put there as he was leaving. It’s a small plastic bag with a piece of paper and something else inside, and Yuuri finds shelter at the nearest bus stop to take a good look at it. 

It’s a small zip bag. Inside, there’s a tiny card that says _“Happy Birthday!”_ and a small gold charm of a poodle that looks exactly like Makkachin. With shaking hands, Yuuri pulls the card out of the bag and reads inside it, in Viktor’s handwriting: _“I’m still sorry I’m not with you today, my love, but here’s Makka to keep you company! Check your inside pocket!”_

In the inside pocket of his coat Yuuri finds another plastic bag, with a card that says _“I love you!”_ and a gold bracelet to match the charm. The bracelet fits him perfectly.

Both the bracelet and the charm are made of yellow gold, the same as their rings—which speaks preparation, because Yuuri’s already started looking for a gift for Viktor and discovered that Russian jewellery stores have large supplies of red gold and pretty much none of yellow. Viktor must have bought the gift during one of his competitions and—he could have planted it in his pockets at any time, because this is the first time Yuuri’s wearing this coat since Viktor left; it wasn’t that cold before. He wonders how Viktor knew in advance it would start snowing—probably would have insisted Yuuri dressed warm, anyway, claiming some obscure weather forecast promised a storm.

Yuuri smiles to himself. The gold poodle is adorable and makes him feel a little less lonely, like Viktor and Makka are now just a little bit closer. It also makes him think of his own gift for Viktor’s birthday and how the two are perfectly matched. 

* * *

“Happy birthday, Yuuri,” Olga, his physiotherapist, says. “I’ll go easy on you today, yes? Reasonably!”

‘Reasonably easy’ is barely easier than Olga’s usual hard, but Yuuri isn’t complaining. The harder it is now, the better off he’ll be by the Olympics. 

After his session, his stomach loudly reminds him he forgot his breakfast, and he rummages in his backpack for the smoothie. Before he can find the small bottle, he discovers a beautiful plastic bag that definitely isn’t supposed to be there. 

Opening it, he finds a pair of soft blue wool gloves. _“My Mums say hello,”_ the attached note says. _“You’re going to meet them soon, and for now, enjoy the warmth!”_

At times, Yuuri’s just as absent-minded as his fiance; there’s no other explanation for not noticing the bag in his own backpack for days.

* * *

While he’s walking back, his family calls him..

“Happy birthday, Yuuri,” his mother says. “We miss you so much!”

“I’ll have some sake in your honor,” his father promises, and Yuuri politely swallows a disrespectful ‘Please, don’t!’

“We sent you a present,” Mari tells him. “Hopefully, you’ll get it soon!” 

They already got him gifts when he was in Japan for NHL and the entire family came to Osaka just to see him. Their visit (closing down the onsen for the day; absolutely unheard of) was enough of a birthday present in itself, but they also brought him a warm sweater from his parents and a pack of colourful Hasetsu postcards from Mari. What else could there possibly be?

Listening to his family chatter at him, Yuuri thinks that, although the actual distance isn’t that different, St.Petersburg feels a lot closer to home than Detroit sees his family much more often now, but at the same time misses them much more than he ever did when he spent five years barely even calling home.

“Can I talk to Makkachin?” he asks. Makka’s part of his family now, too.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Mum says, “but she’s—”

“She’s out with the triplets!” Mari says, “They’re taking her to the ocean!”

“Oh.” Makkachin loves the ocean. There’s a lot of water in St.Petersburg, but it’s never quite the same, not even at the sea. That’s yet another reason why Makka’s better off with Yuuri’s family in Japan, and yet another reason for Yuuri to miss his home, his family, and the ocean.

* * *

_“I found your gifts, they’re amazing, thank you so much!”_ he Telegrams Viktor after his family hangs up, then thinks for a second and adds a heart sticker. He isn’t a fan of these, but Viktor likes them. 

_“Which ones?”_ Comes Viktor’s reply followed by three different heart stickers.

 _“All of them?”_ he texts, but already begins to suspect something. _“The Makka charm, the bracelet, and the gloves from your mothers. Thank them for me?”_

 _“You’ll thank them yourself when we go see them. And check the nightstand,”_ Viktor suggests. _“There might be something else for you.”_

Yuuri does, as soon as he gets home after his walk. 

There’s a beautiful pink envelope in his nightstand. Inside it he finds a certificate for the spa that only opened last month, and a note that says, _“As much as I might hate other people touching you, I think I might survive you getting a nice massage. Please wait for me, though, I’d love to be there with you! Happy birthday, my love!”_

Yuuri stares at the note for a long time. For one thing, he doesn’t quite get how he missed the envelope when he last looked into the nightstand; he’s sure it must have happened sometime after Viktor’s departure. For another, he hasn’t told anyone that when he passed that spa last week it occurred to him that it would be nice to check it out with Viktor. He never really liked the idea of spas and massages until Viktor introduced them to him.

* * *

When he opens the box with jasmine tea, he isn’t even surprised to find a small chocolate bar in it. There’s a post-it note on it saying _“Happy birthday!”_

Yuuri hasn’t opened that box since Viktor left, which is probably predictable, because he always drinks Viktor’s black tea when he’s alone, and Yuri—their only frequent guest—prefers unflavoured green tea. 

_“The spa is a great idea!”_ he texts Viktor. _“And I really missed that chocolate!”_ It’s an expensive Swiss brand Yuuri rarely treats himself to.

 _“Keep looking,”_ Viktor replies, and now Yuuri is intrigued. 

He thinks of places he hasn’t checked since Viktor left. That turns out to be a good idea, because he finds a small pack of Rafaellos in the big teapot they use when they have the time to have tea together properly, and two more chocolate bars of different sizes and brands hidden in plain sight: one on the shelf with Makka’s toys, and the other in the fridge, next to the butter. It’s absolutely unsurprising that Yuuri didn’t notice them before, because, obviously, Makka isn’t here, and Yuuri’s yet to acquire the Russians’ habit to put butter on every sandwich. 

The bar in the fridge makes him think that he hasn’t needed anything in the freezer for a while—and sure, when he checks it, there’s a bag with at least ten kinds of Russian ice cream, and a note, _“I know it’s not exactly the season for ice cream, and eating all of it at once might not be recommended, but I’m sure you’re going to love the real ice cream! Happy birthday, my love!”_

His research is interrupted by the doorbell. He opens the door—and is met by a basket of deliciously smelling pirozhki. 

“Don’t think I’m going to start a tradition or anything,” Plisetsky says from behind the basket. “I just felt like baking.”

Yuuri decides not to look the gift pirozhkis into—whatever. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. 

Yuri kicks his shoes off proceeds to carry the basket to the kitchen. “Everyone’s gonna be here soon.” Yuuri looks at the clock. Yuri’s ‘soon’ is almost two hours. “I know you’re unprepared, so I’ve ordered some snacks, they’ll be here in an hour, but you’re paying. And if you finished all of Viktor’s tea, go get more, because that’s what Yakov drinks, too. The others are fine with whatever.”

Up to this moment Yuuri wasn’t sure Coach Feltsman would even come, because all he got in reply to his invitation was, ‘I’ll think about it.’

“I think I’ve got some tea left,” he tells Yuri.

“Okay, so,” Yuri says as he moves to the living room. “Yakov and Lilia, and Mila and Goshka with his hag, and you and me—that’s seven. Move the table to the couch and get the chairs from the kitchen. Does he still keep mama Sveta’s china at the bottom of the closet?” 

“Thanks for helping he with this,” Yuuri says. “You don’t have to.” 

“Of course I don’t, and I’m not helping, I’m just keeping you from fucking up your own birthday. It’s not the same thing. Anyways, get the chairs, I’ll wash the china, give me a dishtowel.” 

On the shelf with the dishtowels Yuuri finds a heart-shaped plushie that’s hugging a heart-shaped card with “Happy birthday, Yuuri!” written in Viktor’s handwriting. He wraps the toy’s arms around his wrist and picks up the towel.

* * *

Yuri’s idea of “snacks” is, apparently, some restaurant’s entire banquet menu—much more than seven people can consume in one meal, even without the katsudon Yuuri’s making for them. 

Just as Yuri sets the table and Yuuri finishes with the rice, the doorbell rings. 

“I know you said ‘no gifts,” Mila says from the porch, “but I still brought you something. I hope it’s alright.” 

“Of course it’s alright, hag, who ever says no to presents?” Yuri replies for him. 

Mila hands Yuuri a gift bag. Inside it there’s a travel mug with an engraved poodle on it. It’s obviously custom-made, because it’s the same brand and even exactly the same model Yuuri uses, and he’s sure they never made mugs with poodles. 

“I thought—you’ve got a phone case with little poodles, and Vitya’s got the tissue holder, so you could use a mug to go with those,” she explains. 

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” he tells her. It is, and the amount of thought she put into it is really touching. 

When Yuuri opens the cupboard with spare slippers for the guests, the first thing that meets him there is yet another beautiful plastic bag. While Mila’s taking off her shoes and picking out a pair of slippers, Yuuri opens the bag. There’s a pair of slippers shaped like poodles in it and a card that says, _“I hope they’ll keep you warm this winter.”_

* * *

Georgi arrives next, bringing a big yellow flower. 

“I know you said you didn’t want gifts,” he says, “but I saw this and though you could use a little sun. There isn’t nearly enough sun in this city in winter.” 

Yuuri accepts the flower and tries to thank Georgi while Yuri loudly complains, “How fucking cheesy can you be, he’s not your fucking girlfriend! Speaking of which, where’s the hag?” 

‘The hag’, a beautiful lady named Rita, arrives while Georgi’s putting on his slippers, and brings a box of Russian chocolates.

“At least someone’s got the sense to bring something decent,” Yurio says. 

“Hands off,” Georgi tells him. “They’re Yuuri’s.”

“Whatever,” Yuri says, but keeps glancing at the box, anyway. 

Coach Feltsman arrives next, bearing a bag full of paper books. 

“I know you didn’t want a gift,” he says, and Yuuri tries hard to hide his smile because everyone seems to say the same thing, “but if you’re going to live in Russia, you’ll have to know the culture. And I highly doubt your idiot of a coach has a good library.”

Actually, Viktor’s library of paper books (which, as Yuuri’s already had the chance to find out, are the only books Feltsman finds valid) is rather impressive—but probably not by Feltsman’s standards. 

Yuuri’s present consists of two books on Russian history, a colourful book on Russian figure skating (Yuuri doesn’t mention that he has owned a copy of it for a while because it had a chapter on Viktor), a thick tome called Two Captains, a book of poetry by Nikolai Rubtsov (someone Yuuri never heard about) and a book called “Poets of Silver Age”—all in Russian, of course, which means it will probably take some time for Yuuri to be able to fully enjoy them. 

“Don’t read Tsvetaeva,” Yuri says as he inspects the books with him. “She’s a whiny bitch and also killed her baby or something.” 

“That’s not what happened,” Georgi insists with outrage.

“Yes it is,” Mila says, and by the time madame Baranovskaya arrives, the Russian team is deep into a heated argument over a tragic biography of a long deceased poetesse. 

Baranovskaya, unlike the rest of them, does not offer apologies for bringing a gift, she just hands Yuuri an envelope. “It’s been brought to my attention that you have never been to Bolshoi Theatre,” she says. “See that you fix that immediately.”

‘Immediately’, according to the date on the tickets, is actually in January, three days before Viktor’s SP at Europeans, and they were planning to be in Moscow by then, anyway, but will be able to spare an evening for ballet. It’s pretty amazing. 

Yuuri thanks her profoundly, and Yurio, taking a look at the tickets over his shoulder, for once, doesn’t offer any commentaries. 

* * *

Thankfully, there is, indeed, no singing. Instead, there are toasts: to the ‘birthday boy’ (Yuuri tries hard not to blush, but probably fails at it), to ‘the parents’, to winning, to Yuuri’s speedy recovery, to—by the time Georgi offers to drink to Marina Tsvetaeva, the wine, luckily, runs out. There wasn’t that much of it, to begin with, because the last thing Yuuri needed was to let his nerves trick him into getting blackout drunk in front of the Russian team.

“You’re all on a strict diet starting tomorrow morning,” Yakov warns his students as he finishes his chicken katsudon. “You, however,” he points at Rita, “need to eat more. You’re smaller than our Yura, that can’t be healthy for a non-athlete. More rice? And you should have more of Yura’s pirozhki, they’re surprisingly good!”

Rita blushes and tries to refuse the offerings, but Yakov’s having none of it.

“See?” says Yuri. “He brings you books, dotes on Rita, gives Beka skating advice without yelling. It’s just us that he hates.”

“That’s because you deserve it, you ungrateful brats,” Yakov retorts lightly. 

“You didn’t tell Katsudon to diet. He’s the fattest here,” Yuri complains. 

“I’m not his coach,” Feltsman says, but then turns to Yuuri, anyway. “But if I were, I’d tell you to go easy on the dessert.”

“And he’ll put your coach on a diet, too, just because he can,” Yuri says before Yuuri can reply. “Even though the asshole isn’t having any katsudon today.”

“Language, Yura,” says Lilia, making Yuri scowl. 

“Don’t worry about Vitya, he’ll get what’s coming to him,” Feltsman promises. “Worry for yourself. Don’t think I forgot you skipping practice just because your pirozhki are edible.”

* * *

Georgi offers his help making the tea, and finds a small gift bag inside the sugar jar. In the bag Yuuri finds a small gold skate charm and a tiny card with a heart on it. 

“Ooh, it’s soo romantic,” Georgi says, “I should hide little gifts for my Rita at her place!”

“It’s gross and creepy,” Yuri says, piling seven teacups on one tray. “And you’re all idiots.” 

“Thank you for your input,” Yuuri tells him. “Your opinion is very important to us.” 

“Now go set the table,” Georgi demands. 

While Georgi’s dealing with the tea and Yuri’s handling the cups, Yuuri takes the cake to the living room, goes to get the sweets—and behind the bag of chocolates Viktor advised him to buy (he said they’d go well with the tea and also that Lilia liked them) discovers a wooden bear with a balalaika in its paws. The card under it says, _“It’s so ridiculous I hope it made you smile!”_

It’s more cute than ridiculous, but it does, in fact, make Yuuri smile as he inspects the toy—the carving is masterful: the fur of the bear, and the cute little hat, and the strings on the balalaika are so realistic that it looks like the bear’s just about to start singing. It almost distracts Yuuri from the obvious fact.

He only bought the sweets yesterday morning. He definitely would have noticed the bear when he put them on that shelf. There was no way of missing it. Now that he thinks about it, he realizes that he definitely looked into the sugar jar last night.

There’s one obvious place he has to check to test the theory Yuuri immediately comes up with. He goes to the bathroom and slips his hand into the pocket of the blue bathrobe—and comes up with a bar of soap shaped as a poodle; exactly the thing Viktor would pick up and bring home, claiming “I saw this and thought of you!” 

It was a good plan, he muses; a solid, well-thought-out plan that involved a bit of data collection (it isn’t that hard to figure out that Yuuri drinks Viktor’s tea and wears the grey bathrobe—the one Viktor usually prefers when he’s home—but you still have to pay at least some attention) and a flawless execution. 

Well. Almost flawless. 

No one except Yuuri himself knew when he bought the chocolates. Or that he washed the blue bathrobe the other day—after Viktor already left. 

“Oi, piggy,” Yuri calls from the living room, “Come blow your fake candles, we want cake!” 

Gross and creepy, and also idiots. Right.

* * *

According to Yuri, candles are only real if the number of them matches your age. Otherwise—like in Yuuri’s case, when there are only two of them, shaped as numbers 2 and 5—hey are, without a doubt, fake. Yuuri blows them, anyway, and then Feltsman takes the knife and cuts the cake as if it’s been his job all along. Directly contradicting his own advice to go easy on the dessert, he gives the biggest piece to Yuuri. Second biggest goes, predictably, to Rita.

Yuuri eats his piece of cake—it’s really delicious—and watches Yuri scoop the chocolate off his slice of cake piece by piece and deposit it on Mila’s plate. Mila’s busy eating her own chocolate glaze and barely acknowledges Yuri’s actions, and Yuuri can’t help but wonder if it’s Yuri who hates the chocolate or Mila who loves it. 

“The only place that makes the real Ptichye Moloko is the Praga restaurant in Moscow,” Feltsman says. “Do you remember the chef there?” he asks Lilia but doesn’t wait for an answer. “He’d come out to the restaurant’s shop and sell the cake himself, just to see all the people who enjoyed it.”

Feltsman proceeds to tell the story of how the chef had a crush on Baranovskaya and sent her cake every New Year, while Yuri loudly complains that he’s hearing the story for the sixty-eighth time. Mila steals chocolate off Georgi’s cake when he’s not looking and silently bribes Rita with half of her loot when Rita catches her. Georgi picks up one of the sweets, eats it, and then folds the wrapping as if the sweet’s still there and uses the moment when Yuri’s getting more tea to put the fake-sweet next to his plate—for which, when Yuri discovers the distortion, gets hit with a teaspoon.

At some point Yuri calls Feltsman senile and gets punished with a promise of extra exercise; a minute later Georgi makes another deeply inappropriate joke and then asks Yuuri for political asylum when both Baranovskaya and Feltsman promise retaliation; Mila keeps stealing chocolate off other people’s plates and then off what’s left of the cake in the middle of the table. They all speak English, obviously for Yuuri’s benefit, but otherwise don’t really bother asking Yuuri for his input. He finds that he likes it that way—being both included and not included in the conversation at the same time.

* * *

By the time Yakov glances at his watch and tells his students that it’s way past their bedtime, the cake has lost all of its frosting, and Yuri can’t tell how many real sweets are left in the vase, and how many of them are just empty wrappings. 

He’s now in possession of a number of probably useless historical facts about Russian cities (such as the address of the place where you could get the best hot chocolate in Moscow in 1982, or the reason why different sides of the same streets on Vasilievsky Ostrov have different names), a kind of useful list of Russian words that are different in Moscow and St. Petersburg (starting with the words for ‘bread’ and finishing with words for things that hardly need one word for, let alone two different words) and a promise from Rita to show him all the best things in St.Petersburg because, according to her, everyone else has been criminally neglectful of his education.

* * *

“I’m not helping you with the dishes,” Yuri says.

Yuuri smiles. “That’s okay, I think the dishwasher can handle it,” he tells him. All this time, he’s been debating himself on whether or not to call Yuri out on the gift conspiracy, but decides against it. For one thing, it would be deeply ungrateful to embarrass Yuri in front of his team right now. For another, the experience of having a sibling (and later a best friend who is good with a camera) taught Yuuri that one can never have too much blackmail material, on anyone, ever.

Before leaving, Yuri packs katsudon leftovers and throws it into his own backpack. “Don’t look at me like that,” he tells Mila, “Katsudon can make more. I deserve it for putting up with all of you. You can have the salad.”

Mila does, indeed, agree to take most of the salad leftovers, and Rita lets Yuuri, with Yakov’s help, talk her into taking some pirozhkis. Some of the non-fake candies, with Georgi’s assistance and Yakov’s approval, find their way into Lilia’s coat pocket when its owner isn’t looking.

As Yuuri closes the door behind his guests and walks back to the living room, he thinks that having people show up, eat a lot of food and talk about things he cares nothing about is a odd way to spend his birthday. Then he notices Phichit’s bag of glitter, still unopened, on the bookshelf and the complete lack of confetti and silly hats—and realizes he’s been blessed.

* * *

He’s almost done with putting the dishes into the dishwasher and the furniture back where it belongs (once again thanking the universe for the absence of confetti) when he thinks he hears barking—and almost convinces himself that he’s hearing things, because there’s no way, right? No way. 

And then he hears, unmistakably, the key in the lock. 

Hei has just enough time to take off the apron when Makkachin rushes into the apartment and knocks him to the floor. 

“Now, Makka, let me kiss him, too, you’re not the only one who missed him!” says Viktor from the door. 

Yuuri sits on the floor, stunned, as Viktor drops his bag right on the rug at the door and then drops to his knees next to Yuuri, wet coat and dirty shoes still on. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, hugging Yuuri tightly. “Yuuri, I’m so sorry! I really wanted to be here for your birthday!”

“What—” Yuuri isn’t even sure which question he wants to ask first when Viktor lets go him of him enough to let him breathe, “How—”

“Uhm,” Viktor says coherently, “Ehm. There wasn’t any sponsorship deal?” The sponsorship deal, supposedly, was the reason Viktor didn’t come home right after the competition. “I mean, there is, but we’re signing it in Moscow in January, and I just thought, you missed Makka so much, and we were going to bring her here anyway, so, I—”

“You flew to Japan on your way here just to bring Makkachin here for my birthday?” Almost exactly halfway across the world.

“Only it backfired, right? I wanted to be here for your birthday. Yura said everyone would come at seven, and my plane was supposed to land at half past six, so we’d be just a little late. Only because of the snow we got redispatched to Moscow. I’m so sorry!”

“It’s—okay?” Yuuri says. “It’s still my birthday for—” he looks at the clock, “three minutes.”

“Happy birthday, Yuuri!” Viktor yells, and Yuuri’s once again stretched out on the floor; Viktor isn’t really that different from Makkachin when it comes to knocking Yuuri down.

“How did you get here from Moscow so fast?” he asks.

“Pure luck,” Viktor says. “I managed to catch the last Sapsan at the very last moment. Another minute, and I’d have to take a night train and only get here in the morning.”

“It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me for my birthday,” Yuuri tells him. “Thank you.”

“We came three minutes before it's not your birthday anymore, knocked you to the floor, got you all cold and wet, and also brought you nothing, because my luggage is still in Moscow,” Viktor says as he finally gets up and starts taking off his wet coat. “You have really low standards, my love, we have to work on it. You need more gifts.” 

“Speaking of gifts,” Yuuri says. “How did you manage to get Yuri to help you with them?”

“Oh! Oh, that’s the best part! He volunteered!”

“He—what?”

“Well, Gosha and I did it for him when he was turning twelve. Hid toys and candy in his room, in his locker, and in his pockets to cheer him up, because he was upset his mother couldn’t be there. And imagine that, a week ago he yelled at me that if I didn’t get here in time, 'Katsudon’s gonna sulk, it’ll be gross and all your fault!” Viktor’s imitation of Yuri’s voice is hilariously perfect. “I was going to hide the gifts before I left, but he said you’d find them and it would ruin the surprise.”

“That shows how much I know about Yuri. After last year, I shouldn’t even be surprised.” He still is. 

* * *

Viktor happily agrees to have tea with pirozhki and the sad chocolate-less leftover cake. He reaches for the candies, only to pick up one of the empty wrappers—and promises to ban Georgi from their home for the rest of his life. 

In Viktor’s mug they find a card with a picture of a penguin who’s spreading his wings wide and saying _“I hate you THIS much!”_ in Russian. 

Later that night (morning, really) under Viktor’s pillow they find a card with a blue cat on it that says, _“You’re stupid.”_ Inside, in Yuri’s handwriting, it says, _“You owe me for the rest of your life.”_

Viktor promises to put both of them in heart-shaped frames.

Yuuri endeavours to hug both Viktor and Makkachin at the same time, which is not an easy task, and thinks that it was probably the best birthday of his adult life.

**Author's Note:**

> The postcards Yuri left for Viktor were made by [Huynh Kim Lien](https://www.facebook.com/killien.huynh) ([here are the cards](https://www.behance.net/gallery/29433815/Postcard-for-your-enemies)). They are available in Russian, but I couldn't find the Russian version that would link to the author.


End file.
